


From a Certain Point of View

by LaceFedora, PunsBulletsAndPointyThings, the_dragongirl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Audio Format: Streaming, Community: pod_together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Podfic, Podfic Length: 45-60 Minutes, Pre-Slash, Qui-Gon Lives, Rattatak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceFedora/pseuds/LaceFedora, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/pseuds/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rescue of Obi-Wan from Rattatak reveals many things to the people around him. All of these revelations are true...from a certain point of view.</p><p>A fic and podfic collaboration, for Pod-Together 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Qui-Gon

Cover Art by LaceFedora.

| 

## Streaming Audio

Whole Story

Chapter 1

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## Music 

**Michael Meets Mozart** by The Piano Guys, from The Piano Guys. 


  
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Qui-Gon's life over the past decade had consisted of one surprise after another. First, he'd battled one of the Sith, who by the common wisdom of the Jedi Order should have been extinct for centuries. Then he'd somehow managed to survive said battle. Waking up with half his organ’s replaced with synthetics was obviously preferable to being dead, but it certainly wasn't what he'd expected (though seeing Obi-wan alive and breathing by his bedside made being stabbed completely worth it.) Taking on the Chosen One as his Padawan had been slightly less of a shock, since he had at least chosen that course of action for himself, but since he'd expected Obi-wan to be his last student, it still contributed to the overall trend. And the most recent upheaval, becoming a High General in the Grand Army of the Republic, was simply unprecedented in the history of the Jedi Order.

Jedi as generals. It left a foul taste in Qui-gon's mouth, to be honest. It wasn’t what the Order was designed for, and it prevented them from doing their actual duty. The war hadn't even lasted a year yet, and already it had completely prevented the Jedi from fulfilling their primary function as a peacekeeping force. Watching the death and destruction tear the galaxy apart, especially over something that could have been solved completely in peaceful negotiations, pained Qui-Gon more than he could say.

He had to admit, though, he liked the clones. These days, Qui-Gon often felt more at home with his troops than he did at the Temple. They were good men, every one of them. The living force was so very bright within them that Qui-Gon had no idea how any Jedi could fail to see it (or how every one of those lights that was extinguished made the galaxy that much darker). Qui-gon liked Cody especially. They didn't always get along, certainly; they disagreed often, though Cody at least was always polite about it. Most often, their disagreements were about protocol. Cody reminded Qui-Gon so much of Obi-wan that way. He was certain, given the chance, the two would get along famously.

But Obi-wan was never in charge of any more than a handful of troops at a time. The council had him working on... something. Something quiet. Something that had kept him out of contact for a long periods time, broken only by the occasional appearance to borrow a trooper with some specific expertise from the 212th or the 501st. Technically, Qui-Gon was fairly certain, Obi-Wan could request troops from any battalion. However, he always seemed to choose men Qui-Gon and Anakin’s battalions (and possibly, Qui-Gon suspected, from Feemor’s). Perhaps Obi-Wan used it as a private excuse to visit his old master and his brother Padawan. If so, Qui-Gon was glad for it. He missed Obi-Wan's presence a little more every time he left. And it wasn’t as if Obi-Wan's preferences on that front were a hardship; the men loved Obi-Wan. He had a passion for Mandalorian culture which the troops were always eager to take advantage of, to learn a little more of their progenitor's culture. The men that went with Obi-Wan always came back alive (and perhaps with a bit more knowledge of what life was like outside the GAR).

It had been months since Qui-Gon had heard from him last. The long silence was disheartening, but not at all uncommon. And besides, Qui-Gon really had no room to complain about long absences, especially since the war started; he was terrible at checking in even with the Council, let alone with his former Padawan. It suited him to remain out of the Order's reach most of the time, because when he _did_ hear from the so-wise Masters of the Council...well, he didn't tend to like what he heard. No, that was putting it too mildly. He  _hated_ what he heard. He hated that they made him prioritize who to help and when to help them based on military advantage, rather than based on actual need and suffering. There were times when he couldn't stomach it. And so, he simply didn't check in. Qui-Gon was perfectly capable of finding people in need of his help on his own, after all, and as long as he was doing _something_ worthwhile and beneficial to the Order and the people they served, it was hard for the Council to object publicly.

Now was one of those times. They’d received a distress call from an unidentified ARC Trooper. The transmission had been badly degraded; they'd gotten enough enough to confirm the security code, but everything else (including the trooper's identity and details of the situation) had been lost. Qui-Gon had immediately set out to investigate; they were, after all, the only battalion in the area. There was no time to wait for instructions, if they'd understood the urgency of that distress call correctly. Not if they hoped to reach the trooper before it was too late.

Rattatak had looked utterly desolate from orbit and it wasn’t proving to be much better now that they were on the surface. Qui-Gon was getting a generalized feeling of Darkness from the planet overall, but as they got closer, that feeling sharpened and crystallized.

There was a Jedi on the planet, and that Jedi was in pain.

“Bring down a medical unit.” Qui-Gon told Cody. “Have them on standby until we clear the area.” Cody nodded and called them in without hesitation, trusting to Qui-Gon’s instincts.

The feeling intensified as they got approached the source of the signal, a nondescript compound hidden in the hills. The Darkside clung to the building like a foul stench, and Qui-Gon had his saber lit and at the ready before he could even think it through. The exterior itself seemed innocuous enough; only a few droids and barren red rock surrounded the building, despite the ominous air. Qui-Gon signaled his men to proceed, and they silenced the droids and infiltrated the fortress with precise efficiency. The source of the darkness must be inside that building, which meant the trooper who had called for their help was likely there too (as was that distressed Jedi...)

When Qui-Gon finally realized who exactly it is he had been sensing, he took off at a run, leaving Cody to deal with the men and any enemy combatants they may find. It couldn’t be him. He _couldn’t_ be here. The last Qui-Gon had heard, he was headed to Jabiim to assist the Jabiimi loyalists in holding off the seperatist forces. He couldn’t be all the way out here on Rattatak. Qui-Gon would have _known_.

Qui-Gon skidded to a stop before a large door, staring at it for a bare split second, before yanking and pulling at the hinges with the Force and his bare hands.

Inside, barely conscious, was Alpha 17, and he was holding Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Qui-Gon nearly stopped breathing at the sight of them. Alpha was supporting both their weights; Obi-Wan was a crumpled form collapsed against him. They both looked gray with exhaustion and bore obvious marks of torture. In fact, from the remnants of restraints Qui-Gon noted distractedly, it looked as though one of them had been strung up in this very room, and Obi-Wan and Alpha had managed to work their way free and barricade themselves inside.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon breathed and ran across the room. He groped frantically for his comm, shouting to the med team to get in here now, before taking some of Obi-Wan's weight from Alpha. His breath caught in his throat as he clumsily felt for Obi-Wan's pulse, only beginning again when he found it still beating steadily under his fingers. “And you...are you hurt?” Qui-Gon asked, managing to tear a little attention away from the unconscious Jedi to glance at the clone.

“I’m better than him. I managed to pry that off him.” Alpha pointed to a blood spattered mask lying nearby. Qui-Gon very nearly recoiled at the sight, as he recognized a Force inhibitor. Sith Hells, how long had Obi-Wan been in that thing? “Thought we were going to have to fight our way out,” Alpha explained. Qui-gon pulled Obi-Wan closer to his chest, and Alpha wearily allowed him to take the rest of Obi-Wan’s weight, easing Obi-wan more securely into Qui-Gon’s arms, and then taking a step back to lean, exhausted, against a wall.

Obi-wan didn't so much as twitch. In fact, he gave no sign that he was aware of Qui-Gon's presence at all. Qui-Gon's heart dropped even further into his stomach. Oh, Force, how could he not have known? His training bond with Obi-Wan was long-since severed, but Qui-Gon still couldn’t believe he hadn’t sensed _anything_. Not a ripple in the Force, not a sense of disconnection when the inhibitor was put on. Nothing. He ran his fingers gently through tangled auburn hair, cradling Obi-Wan closer.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have been here. Obi-Wan, you need to wake up. Please, wake up.” Qui-Gon repeated that plea again and again, holding Obi-Wan against him and trying to bolster his energy reserves, until the medics arrived.

 


	2. Anakin

Cover Art by LaceFedora.

| 

## Streaming Audio

Chapter 2

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Anakin was not good with words. Anakin had _never_ been very good with words.

Words were the domain of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, two of the Temple’s most skilled diplomats. Qui-Gon was in near constant demand as an ambassador across the galaxy, and not even war had stopped the growing fame of ‘the Negotiator’ and his silver tongue.

Or at least, it hadn’t. Until now.

No, Anakin was not good with words. To be good with words, you had to understand people. You had to know how to pluck the right phrases out of the air and how to apply them in just the right way to cut or sooth, to heal a wound or open it further. Obi-Wan had always been good at that. Anakin wished now that he could have learned.

But people were complicated. Anakin had always preferred droids, that way. He understood droids, understood how they worked, how they spoke, how they thought. With droids, unless they were utterly destroyed and shattered into tiny fragments, Anakin could fix them.

He didn’t know how to fix this. He had never been good with words. And with every passing moment that this shuttle brought him closer to Qui-Gon, Anakin felt his throat tighten further, stealing more and more of the few words he had away with every shaking, labored breath.

Oh, Force, how was he going to do this?

Rattatak was a miserable planet of drab tan stone shot through with lurid red. It reminded Anakin far too much of blood on sand. Hard, merciless winds buffeted him and his men, muting the sound of their voices and whipping Anakin’s robes and hair into a frenzy. The rhythmic thud of boots behind him was steadier than his own heartbeat, and as he and his men departed from their ship, he forced himself to slow his breathing, drawing on the Force for something that could almost pass for calm.

He had to do this. He had no idea _how_ he was going to do this. But it had to be done.

Three words. He could manage that. Just, three little words.

And yet, they were some of the hardest words he had ever had to say.

_‘Obi-Wan is dead.’_

Silently, Anakin cursed Jabiim, cursed the kriffing Council for assigning them that mission, cursed the bastards who had shot down his brother and taken him from them. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end, dammit! The Jedi weren't supposed to die like that. Especially not Obi-Wan. His friend. His brother.

Anakin could see the other gunships up ahead now, could feel his former Master’s presence.

_Oh Force, I can’t do this._

Ten more steps.

Seven more.

Five.

Three.

Two.

_Breathe in, open your eyes._

One.

“Master, I―” Anakin started, reaching out and pushing aside the flap of the tent he had been directed to, where he could feel Qui-Gon’s familiar presence, a muted buzz under dura-steel shielding. “I’m so―”

He froze, eyes going wide, heart lurching. All the breath left his lungs in a shocked gasp, dragging the last of his words with it.

Qui-Gon sat slumped on a crate next to a low medical cot. His hair, silver fighting bronze for dominance (and winning more and more often these days), hung loose around his face. Even with the heavy mental shields, Anakin could feel the exhaustion and grief radiating from him. But in the cot, lying pale and still but breathing ( _oh blessed Force, breathing!_ ), was―

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin gasped, stumbling forwards and crashing to his knees at Qui-Gon’s side. “But we― But he― How?! Where was he?! What happened?!”

It took Qui-Gon a long time to finally react. When at last he looked up and met his last apprentice’s gaze, his eyes were awash with guilt and worry and pain.

“Anakin.”

“Yes, Qui-Gon. I’m here, Master.”

The older Jedi’s voice was distant, and a little stunned. “He…we found him, and Alpha 17. Ventress...Ventress had them.”

Anakin growled, low in his throat. “That Sith-spawned little―” He stopped and blew out a steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Peace, peace. Now was not the time, not with Qui-Gon so clearly shaken. When he opened his eyes, Anakin asked, “Is he going to be alright?”

“Yes. Well, physically, at least.” Qui-Gon turned his gaze back to the man in the bed. Obi-Wan was too pale, and there were bandages all over his arm, legs, and torso. Even worse were the bright red gashes and cuts marring his face. Anakin had never seen anything like it; he could only imagine how much they must have hurt his brother.

“Physically?” he prompted.

Qui-Gon scrubbed a hand over his face. “He and Alpha both have injuries from Ventress’…care. They are also both dehydrated and badly malnourished, but all of those things should heal with time. Alpha’s already walking around again, much to the displeasure of the medics.”

“But…?”

“Ventress had Obi-Wan in an inhibitor mask. Alpha managed to get it off, but we have no idea how long he was in it, or what any long term effects might be.” Qui-Gon’s voice was hollow, and Anakin got the sense that he was repeating someone else’s words. “We have no idea when he will wake up.” Anakin could almost hear the unspoken addendum. _Or if he'll wake up at all..._

Again, Anakin cursed Ventress, and all the times they had failed to capture the Sith witch. He squeezed Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and leaned into the older man’s side. “He’s going to be alright.”

Qui-Gon let out a shaky breath, and turned to press a quick kiss to the top of Anakin's head. Then he reached out, running gentle, trembling fingers through Obi-Wan’s sweat and grime matted hair.

“We nearly lost him,” he whispered, and the same tremor in his hands was in his voice. “ _I_ nearly lost him, and I had no idea…Force, I should have known…”

Anakin shook his head. “How could you? You had no reason to suspect something had gone wrong at all, let alone...this.”

“I still should have sensed something.” Calloused fingers brushed down Obi-Wan’s cheek, carefully avoiding the myriad of cuts and bruises that colored the his skin. “I should have―”

“Stop it,” Anakin instructed, voice firm. “This was not your fault, and Obi-Wan wouldn't want you believing otherwise. He’s going to be alright, Qui-Gon. He’s safe now, with us. He's going to wake up soon, and everything is going to be _fine_.”

Then, giving in to an urge he normally kept buried under years of training, Anakin reached out and wrapped his arm around Qui-Gon, holding him tight. It was not the Jedi way, and he half expected his former Master to pull away, but he didn’t care. Qui-Gon was hurting; Obi-Wan was too pale and too still in the bed beside him; but this was something Anakin could do, something he was good at.

Because he had always been much better with actions than he was with words.


	3. Asajj

Cover Art by LaceFedora.

| 

## Streaming Audio

Chapter 3

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She knelt on the floor of the makeshift cell, a picture of repose in a perfect meditation posture. The binders cut into her wrists, and every part of her ached with the aftermath of the unexpected battle, but she refused to show any kind of response to these... _Jedi_. These weak, pathetic creatures had only managed to defeat her through sheer luck and her own carelessness, not through any degree of skill of they possessed. And to add further insult, they hadn’t even shown her enough respect to capture the facility themselves, instead relying upon their clone pets to take her fortress. They hadn’t earned any kind of concession from her, even one so small as a reaction to her injuries. If she’d kept only kept a closer eye on that little captain of Kenobi’s, after all, or ensured that her hidden secondary facility had the kind of security system her main stronghold boasted...

But that was pointless to consider. She was here now, and that meant she needed focus all her efforts on creating a _plan_ , not mulling over past mistakes. There would be time enough later to contemplate her faults, once she’d escaped the Jedi's grasp.

The clones had taken an unconscious Kenobi away only moments before. If the universe were ever kind to her, they would soon be to disposing of his body, but she knew better than to rely it. No doubt the bastard would survive to be a thorn in her side again. Still, though, she could at least take some satisfaction in knowing he wouldn’t escape from his time with her totally unscathed. That inhibitor mask left the most delightful scars, after all, and all the bacta in the world couldn’t erase them entirely. The Negotiator's lovely face would show the marks of her effort forever.

Her efforts would also, it appeared, leave equally deep scars on Kenobi's companions. The Jedi standing before her now was a far cry from the serene General Jinn she’d met before on the battlefield. This man seemed...not broken, precisely. Or rather, not enitrely broken. But certainly battered. Grieved, and deliciously angry. Her Master would be pleased.

“Well, if it isn’t the great General Qui-Gon Jinn,” she purred. “What brings you to my humble cell?”

“Are you really going to play this game now, Ventress?” His voice wasn’t quite a growl, but it was certainly a far cry from composed affability of a Jedi diplomat. “You are captured. You have no allies here, no resources, and no one in the Republic is going to feel merciful towards you after all the atrocities you’ve commited. You _will_ tell us what you’ve done to Knight Kenobi sooner or later, and believe me, it would be far better for you if you made it sooner.”

She felt her lips curl into a smile. It pulled at a cut on her cheek, but she embraced the pain. It has always served as an excellent focus for the power of the Darkside, after all, and she needed whatever power she could muster.

“Now, why ever would I do that?” she asked, licking away a trickle of blood that just touched the corner of her mouth. “My methods proved _far_ more effective at breaking Kenobi than I’d ever dreamed. Why would I ever let such valuable information go waste?”

It was a lie, of course, but then Jinn had no way of knowing that. And she could see from that little flinch he didn’t quite manage to hide that this was _exactly_ the point to push on to keep him off balance.

“You should have heard his screams, Jinn” she drawled. “He’s beautiful in agony, did you know? None of that unsightly blubbering or fainting you get with lesser beings, oh no. Why, I’m not sure I’ve _ever_ seen a Jedi break quite that beautifully before.”

“That’s enough!” he snapped, and oh, yes, there it was. It seemed almost a pity that an adversary with as much potential as Qui-Gon Jinn had such an obvious weakness. Affection, and for a former student no less. How very disappointing, if convenient for her sake.

He took a deep breath, and continued, more evenly. “I will not be distracted, Ventress. You will cooperate, or you will suffer the consequences."

She laughed. “I don’t fear you, Jinn. We both know I won’t be here long. My Master won’t just leave one of his best tools in the hands of the Jedi. Or, at least, you _should_ know. After all, he was your Master too, my dear brother Padawan.”

“You will not call me that,” he gritted out. “I had a sister Padawan, and she is dead. Whatever she may have become, she was once a Jedi. You are not fit the wield her blades.”

Then he took a deep breath, and released it slowly, visibly reaching for some semblance of self-control. “I can see that we won’t get anywhere right now. I will leave you to consider your options, Ventress.”

“You do that,” she said, as he turned to leave. “Oh, and Jinn?”

He stopped at the entrance, looking back at her over his shoulder. “What?”

“Do give my love to dear Obi-Wan, won’t you?”

The look on his face in the brief instant before he strode away sparked a curl of satisfaction deep in her gut. It filled her with warmth as she turned her mind away, towards the problem of plotting an escape.


	4. Kix

Cover Art by LaceFedora.

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## Streaming Audio

Chapter 4

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Kix had never been a fan of Ventress’, to put it mildly. The witch had cost him, cost all of them, too many battles and far too many brothers. Kix himself had spent far too many hours trying to patch up her handy-work, far too often without success.

But as he stared down at the Jedi who lay pale and unmoving in the med bay of the _Negotiator_ , at the slowly healing cuts and ragged gashes that covered the General's skin and the purple-black bruises ringing his eyes and lips and scattered down his arms and legs, Kix found it was that much easier than ever before to wish the _utyc chakaar_ dead.

General Kenobi was still unresponsive from his time on Rattatak. In the next bed over, Alpha 17 was at least awake; he was far from pleased at being confined to medical, but Kix was in no mood to be taking chances. Both men had emerged from Ventress’ stronghold dehydrated, malnourished, and seriously injured. Like hell was Kix going to let the ARC trooper up and have him wandering around again so soon after the rescue.

Kix frowned, as he continued applying fresh bacta ointment to Kenobi’s injuries. The dip in the bacta tank had helped the fractured ribs, internal bleeding, broken wrist, and cracked tibia, and most of the bruises had begun to yellow around the edges, but the cuts were taking longer to heal than they should have. It was concerning, to say the least.

“Ventress probably gave him some sort of Sith poison.”

Kix looked up to see General Skywalker in the doorway, looking tired and concerned. The young Jedi crossed the room, joining Kix at Kenobi’s side. “How’s he doing, Kix?”

“Still with us, General,” Kix replied, sighing as he put the tub of bacta aside and pulled off his gloves. “You’re probably right about there being a toxin of some sort. I’ll run some scans, see if we can isolate it.”

Skywalker nodded, and dropped down into the chair next to Kenobi’s bedside. The slump of his shoulders as he rubbed his hands over his face screamed exhaustion, and Kix narrowed his eyes.

“Have you been sleeping, Sir?”

Skywalker waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Kix. Was just reporting back to the Jedi Council. I came straight here afterward.”

Kix hummed in acknowledgement of the General’s word and picked up a small scanner. When he turned again, Skywalker was gently holding Kenobi’s hand, brushing his thumb over the bruised knuckles, murmuring quiet words that Kix didn’t try to make out. There was a grim cast to the Skywalker’s features; worry radiated off him like a physical force, and there was a weariness in his eyes that Kix did not like one bit.

And still, Skywalker looked better than General Jinn had, in those few moments when he had first brought Kenobi into the ward. The look in Jinn’s eyes, when he had laid Kenobi down on the bed (so gently, as if he were afraid the younger man would shatter), had been an alarming mix of grief, protective fury, and an aching fear that Kix could have sworn he felt all the way into his bones. Kix had never seen a Jedi look like that before.

Kix's attempts to herd Jinn onto a bed himself had, unfortunately, been about as successful as they ever were (which was, to say, not at all), and last Kix had heard, the General was down in the holding cells, interrogating Ventress. The thought brought a bitter smile to Kix’s lips. She deserved everything that was coming to her, the―

“Cerasi!”

Kix startled, as Kenobi’s panicked shout shattered the quiet of the med bay. Spinning around, he heard Alpha curse, and saw Skywalker had jumped to his feet in surprise.

Kenobi was sitting upright in the bed, eyes wide and glassy, as he stared at something only he could see. His face was a mask of open and unabashed grief, shock, pain, and loss, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks as he reached out with one trembling hand.

“No, no, no, no!” he gasped. “No, please!”

Kix cursed, dropping the scanner and rushing over to the bedside opposite Skywalker. Gently, he laid a hand on Kenobi’s shoulder, pressing him back down against the pillow. “Shh, shh. General, it’s just a dream,” he murmured, trying to calm his patient before Kenobi could exacerbate his injuries.

Across from him, Skywalker was squeezing Kenobi’s hand. “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, it’s alright. It’s alright!”

Kenobi was still shaking, but he seemed to relax somewhat at the touches and words. An instant later, however, he tensed again under Kix’s hands. In a voice that was somehow younger than anything Kix had ever heard from him, he shouted, “I’m sorry, Master, I’m sorry, please! Please let me stay! I just…I didn’t…I couldn’t let them die! Please, don’t leave me again!”

Skywalker’s eyes went wide. “Shit,” he muttered, meeting Kix’s gaze for a brief moment, before returning his focus to Kenobi. “Shit, he’s dreaming about Melida/Daan.”

“Melida what?” Kix hissed, as Kenobi lurched, as if he were trying to run after someone.

He cried out again, voice broken and pleading. “Please! Don’t let them send me away! Not again! Please, Master!”

“It was a mission,” Skywalker explained, through clenched teeth. “I...I don't exactly know the details. Neither of them ever really talks about a lot of this stuff, but I heard a little from some of the other Knights around Obi-Wan's age. It was early on in Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship. He and Master Qui-Gon were supposed to be rescuing another Jedi from a war zone. Something went wrong, though, and for some reason, when Master Qui-Gon left the planet, Obi-Wan stayed behind.”

“Please,” Kenobi begged, his voice still so young and terrified. “Please, I can’t do this! Please let me come back! Let me come home!”

Then, as suddenly as it had started, Kenobi tensed, and then collapsed back and went still, his face returning to its earlier mask of peaceful blankness.

The words, the terror and loss behind them, and the tears still streaking Kenobi’s suddenly slack face made something in Kix’s heart ache. He gritted his teeth. There was no time that kind of emotional reaction now, when he had patients to care for. He would stay calm. He _would_.

“It sounds,” he said, in a carefully neutral voice, “more like he was left there.”

Skywalker met his eyes, but said nothing. Kix let out a noise of frustration, and glanced back down.

Looking back down at the pale, unconscious Jedi, Kix couldn’t help the memories that drifted to the surface of his mind.

_“There's no need to bother, Kix. I can stitch myself up.”_  
_“Sir―”_  
_“Kix, really, I’m fine. I’ve been doing this since I was a child. Trust me. Go help the others.”_

_“Sir, the men and I would appreciate it if you didn’t try to get yourself blown up.”_  
_“Come now, Seventeen. You’re spoiling my fun. After all, it’s an annual tradition. Just ask Qui-Gon.”_

_“Thinking about it, I’ve been fighting in wars since I was thirteen too.”_

_“The path of a Jedi is never an easy one, but…well, I must admit I have found it even harder to walk any other.”_

Kix let out a long, shaky breath.

“I think I need to have a few words with General Jinn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a:
> 
> Utyc [OO-teesh] - slimy  
> Chakaar [chah-KAR] - corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse


	5. Alpha-17

Cover Art by LaceFedora.

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Chapter 5

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Alpha 17 didn’t care for medics as a group. They tended to fuss too much for his tastes, and balk at taking the kinds of risks required in battle. He had to admit, though, that this kid Kix had a core of steel in him that Alpha could appreciate. He'd certainly managed to keep a more level head than Alpha had expected, when Kenobi had started having that fit. Alpha hated having his General incapacitated like this, but it was at least good to know that Kenobi was in competent hands.

The Jedi still hadn’t woken up, though. Alpha was starting to wonder if he’d been too hasty in yanking that inhibitor mask off of him. Maybe he should have waited until there was a Jedi there to make sure it could be removed safely? But no. He couldn't imagine that leaving Kenobi in that torment for even a moment longer would have been better. Alpha shifted a little on his med bed, uncomfortable both with that thought and with his own injuries. He hadn’t been kept in the same room as his General in the end, but Alpha had heard, seen, and felt what Asajj Ventress was capable of, and he knew she had a particular interest in Kenobi. She had reveled in the opportunity to take him apart, and while he hadn’t broken when it came to the secrets of the Republic, he had said a great many of things about himself in an attempt to deflect her focus. Alpha gritted his teeth at the memory, and wished Kix would let him go help General Jinn give her a little taste of her own medicine.

But having heard what Kenobi said back in that hell hole of a fortress, Alpha hadn’t been too surprised when the General spiraled into a flashback of some old mission. He’d heard Kenobi before, trapped inside that mask and screaming his former master’s name. Skywalker’s name too, and some others Alpha didn't recognize. It sounded…well, it had sounded like a real shitshow of a mission he’d been in. But then, that was hardly a surprise either. From what he knew of General Kenobi, the man had a hell of a lot more combat experience than most of the Jedi Alpha had worked with, and much of it in situations even a hardened trooper would quail at. Kenobi liked to joke about himself and General Jinn constantly being in one combat situation or another, but, as with everything with the man, it was impossible to tell when he was being serious and when he wasn’t. After Rattatak, Alpha was inclined to believe there was a lot more truth behind the humor than any of them had ever suspected.

Alpha had tried to get up to help Kix and Anakin get Kenobi settled back down, but his own injuries ensured that he didn’t make it far before Obi-Wan slipped back into unconsciousness. He had to admit that this one sounded worse than the others. Like Kenobi had been a kid left alone in a warzone. Alpha could see how Kix took it, had seen how the medics fists had clenched and heard him murmur invectives against General Jinn's skills as a Master and guardian.  But then, Kix hadn’t seen Jinn when he’d found them. No one had, except Alpha himself. He’d watched the old Jedi tremble and touch Kenobi’s face, had heard him beg and apologize.

People changed over time. Or that’s what Alpha had been told anyway. It was a hard concept for most clones to understand. A clone's lifespan was measured in battles survived, not in years. If any of them did somehow manage to live through this war, their accelerated growth ensured that none of them would ever have the kind of time needed to experience that sort of change for themselves. Living from moment to moment like that meant most clones took people and situations at face value. Alpha, however was one of the oldest clones. He’d served with half a dozen Jedi over time, and seen how different the galaxy looked through their eyes. He had had to adjust his thinking to match.

“I think I need to have a few words with General Jinn,” Alpha heard Kix grit out. Alpha sighed, and hauled himself off the bed to cross over and lay a restraining hand on Kix's shoulder.

“Slow down there, Shiny. General Kenobi won't thank you for going after another General on his behalf, especially when you don't have all the facts. Maybe you should wait until Kenobi wakes up, and ask him about it before you try and talk to Jinn,” Alpha phrased it as a suggestion, but his tone really didn't leave much room for arguement. Kix glared at Alpha mutinously, though Alpha wasn’t entirely sure if that was because of what he had said, or if it was because Alpha had gotten out of bed when he’d been ordered not to. Alpha fought down the incongruous urge to grin. A lot of fire in this one, indeed.

“Talk to me about what?” Jinn asked from the doorway, returned at last from interrogating Ventress. Kix tensed, but Skywalker cut in before he could say anything.

“Obi-Wan was having a flashback from what I could tell, Qui-Gon,” Anakin said. Jinn immediately rushed across the room to Obi-Wan’s side, a look of deep concern on his face. Alpha saw him take Kenobi’s hand in his, and he was reminded forcibly of Jinn’s panic when he'd first broken into the room in Ventress's compound where they’d barricaded themselves. How he’d taken Kenobi into his arms. There was a connection between them, that was undeniable. Alpha had a sneaking suspicion that it went beyond the mere camaraderie considered "proper" for the Jedi.

Kix used Alpha's momentary distraction to shove him back down on the med bed, and stalked over to Jinn while Alpha was still attempting to get his injured limbs to cooperate again.

“Does the name ‘Cerasi’ mean anything to you?” Kix spat at Jinn. “General Kenobi was shouting her name. And, it seemed, begging you not to leave him somewhere. Sounded like he was a kid, abandoned in a warzone and in way over his head. And I couldn’t help but remember a few other little things he’s said.” His tone was low, but he really needn't have bothered with that small attempt at discretion; everyone in the room was leaning in to hear. They all knew Kenobi and Jinn, and they’d all heard Kenobi’s fevered outburst. Alpha lurched back up off the bed and grabbed Kix’s arm, taking a pained breath and preparing to reprimand him. They were all running a little hot after seeing Ventress’s horror show, but that was way out of line. Before he could get a single word out, though, Alpha got a look at Jinn, and stopped dead. He’d never seen a Jedi go that pale that quickly.

Jinn looked down at Kenobi again, dropping his gaze away from Kix and his accusations. He rubbed his thumb over the side of Kenobi’s palm.

“Oh, Obi-wan,” he breathed out only to the unconscious Jedi beside him. “How long will you carry that weight?”

His eyes remained downcast, focussed on Kenobi's face. “It was the name of a young woman on a world called Melida/Daan,” Jinn said, letting his voice carry so the rest of the room could hear. The medbay rang with silence for a moment, as everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath. Then Jinn lifted his head, and met Kix’s accusing gaze without hesitation. “I brought Obi-Wan there on a mission, when he was a very young man. It was the site of a great failure on my part, perhaps my greatest failure as Obi-Wan's Master, though it was certainly not my only one.”


	6. Obi-Wan

Cover Art by LaceFedora.

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## Music 

**Michael Meets Mozart** by The Piano Guys, from The Piano Guys. 


  
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“...perhaps my greatest failure as Obi-Wan's Master, though it was certainly not my only one.”

The voice cut through the noxious clouds that seemed to fill Obi-Wan’s mind. It was a familiar voice. One that meant comfort, safety, _home_. A voice he could not possibly be hearing on Rattatak.

Obi-Wan tried to open his eyes, but found that his body wasn’t responding to him. He ached all over, every muscle burning with the strain of being held tense for too long. He was simultaneously burning hot and freezing cold. The feel of the Force scraping across senses cut off too long by that kriffing mask was the only thing that reassured him that this wasn’t yet another delusion brought on by sensory deprivation. He’d hallucinated voices, strange lights, and even aromas during his time in the Ventress’ labs, but he had never imagined being able to feel the Force.

He could only assume that meant he was no longer wearing the Sith-bedamned mask. Which begged the question: was this a rescue, or some new and inventive form of torture? He wouldn’t put it past Ventress to manufacture something like this in order to convince Obi-Wan to lower his defenses, then subject him to more of her usual methods once he was more unguarded.

He tried again to open his eyes. Maybe, if he could see his surroundings, he’d be able to tell if this was a trap. Surely Ventress’ re-creations couldn’t fool _all_ of his senses, not with the Force once again on his side. He strained and strained against the limitation of his physical form, but failed to accomplish anything more than a full-body spasm, as his efforts made the pain in his muscles spike.

A gentle, blessedly cool hand brushed across his forehead then, and he felt a wave of Force-borne strength seep into him through the vestigial remains of his training bond.

“I was a fool. I let my emotions blind me to my duty, both to Obi-Wan and to my oaths as a Jedi, and he suffered the consequences. Obi-Wan may have forgiven me for my folly, but I will never forgive myself. So you see, Lieutenant Kix, you may say whatever you like to me. I can guarantee it won’t be anything I haven’t said to myself.”

That gentle hand enfolded one of Obi-Wan’s own, and in that moment he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was no illusion. Ventress might be able to fake the sound of Qui-Gon’s voice, but she could never fake the feel of his hands or his Force signature. The strength that continued to trickle in through the remnants of his training bond was further proof. Ventress wanted him weak and helpless; she would never provide him with the means to resist her further.

As Obi-Wan absorbed the energy Qui-Gon was sending him, his awareness slowly began to expand. First, he felt Anakin’s presence near at hand, burning like a small sun in the emptiness of hyperspace. Then he became of aware of the smaller lights of the lives of many clones, like so many stars strewn across the landscape of his mind. Some of them were, he was grateful to realize, very familiar. Alpha 17 was close by, and, from the steadiness of his presence, mostly in one piece. Others he recognized from Anakin’s battalion, and Qui-Gon’s.

His awareness also brushed against a dark mind near the periphery of his reach, one which was by this time sickeningly familiar. His mind recoiled from the awareness of _Ventress! Here! Oh, Sith hells, I thought I was safe; I thought I was FREE!_ Then he ruthlessly repressed the panic, releasing it into the Force. Qui-Gon was here; he had to trust that meant the situation was under control.

Finally, he became aware of more physical sensations: the scents of bacta and antiseptic, the feel of the med-bunk underneath him, and the sound of medical equipment beeping softly and of two clone troopers carrying on a quiet, if heated conversation by the next bed over. Experimentally, he tried to twitch a finger, and found that his body was at last beginning to obey his commands.

_Just a little bit more..._

“You really must wake up, Obi-Wan,” he heard Qui-Gon say, his voice full of exhaustion and grief. “Please. You cannot let this defeat you. I cannot lose you to this. You must be strong, do you understand? You must wake up!”

Then, at last, Obi-Wan was able to open his eyes.

The lights above him had, thoughtfully, been dimmed to the merest glow. Obi-Wan felt that he should probably be grateful for that, since the usual lighting levels would most likely have blinded him after so long in the dark of that mask, but such considerations seemed very distant, for sitting at his bedside, seeming to shine faintly in the dim light, was Qui-Gon. His former Master looked weary and heart sore, his eyes bloodshot, his robes slightly scorched, and his hair an utter mess. And yet, somehow, he was still the most beautiful thing Obi-Wan had ever seen.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon breathed, the tension dropping from his body all at once. “Oh, thank the Force!”

Obi-Wan smiled, though movement pulled at one of the cuts on his cheekbone, breaking it open again.

“Hello, Qui-Gon,” he croaked. He felt blood from the cut slowly begin to trickle down the side of his face and into his hair, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care at the moment. Qui-Gon was here. Qui-Gon had come for him.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, flashing Obi-Wan a watery smile of his own. “You gave us quite a fright, Knight Kenobi.”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan mumbled, distracted by the feel of Qui-Gon’s hands enveloping his. Had Qui-Gon’s hands always been that soft?

“Ah, Obi-Wan, you needn’t apologize. It’s just that this old heart of mine can’t take another shock like that. I’m going to have to ask you to never do anything like that again. Do you think you can manage that for me?”

“Mmmm, perhaps,” Obi-Wan slurred. Qui-Gon huffed out a small, slightly hysterical laugh, but he simply stroked Obi-Wan’s hand with his thumb, and said nothing. Obi-Wan let his eyes drift shut, as exhaustion overtook him once more. He could let go now. He was safe. With Qui-Gon there to keep watch, everything would be alright.

 


End file.
